Page 12 of Fortune Favors the Viscount
“No,” he said thoughtfully. “I wanted you to see the Vega Club. So you know what I’d be risking if I fell in with your mad scheme.”
Her mouth dropped open in outrage. His mouth curled but he only pulled out a chair courteously.
Emilia sat, trying to gather herself.Calm, confident, and persistent,she told herself.
“My scheme is not mad,” she said.
“Brandy?”
“Indeed not,” she said, sounding like the stuffiest dowager she’d ever heard. She still held her glass of wine. This was not going well. He had put her off-balance and kept her there, when she had plotted so carefully to be more prepared this time.
He poured a glass and set it down in front of her anyway, and took the chair opposite. “Your scheme is delusional.”
She breathed deeply. “No, it is very rational. I’ve brought a summary of the documents I found.” She took them out of her reticule and began spreading the papers on the table. Six months of work, condensed into three short pages. It had taken her hours to decide what to include. “If you would call on me, I can show you the comprehensive records, which demonstrate your right to the title...”
“Put it away. I don’t care to see your notes.”
Emilia closed her mouth, murder burning in her heart. He had a deck of cards in his hands, expertly flipping them from hand to hand as if he hadn’t a care in the world. She was half dead from anxiety about this, and he didn’t care. He wasn’t going to help her, or Lucy. What else could she do? She had wageredeverythingon him...
“What do you play?” he asked.
“Whist,” she said after a moment. “But only penny stakes.”
That curious, seductive half smile crossed his face. “We’re far past penny stakes, Miss Greene.” The cards jumped between his hands as if they were living creatures performing at his command.
“Believe me, I know,” she muttered. And then, before her brain could stop her mouth, she blurted out, “I’ll wager I can prove your claim to the title.”
Dashwood’s brows went up. “Would you?”
Emilia nodded, her face stony. She wished fervently she had any other option besides this man.
“What is your stake?”
She frowned.
“Every wager requires a stake, Miss Greene,” he said in a low, taunting voice. “What will you risk?”
She gave a disbelieving laugh. “If I prove it, you’ll be a viscount. Isn’t that enough for you to win?”
He shook his head, his gaze never straying from her. “I already told you, I don’t want that. Here’s my wager. If I win, you’ll burn every scrap of your evidence. And in exchange,” he added at her horrified expression, “I’ll give you five thousand pounds for the keeping of the little girl.”
Emilia was frozen, mouth open in the beginnings of a furious protest. “What?” was all she managed to croak.
He was mocking her again, damn him, his eyes glittering and his mouth crooked in that devilish smile. “I’m not a monster. If she is indeed my cousin of some degree, I wouldn’t like to see her suffer.”
Her thoughts were whirling, at once too fast to organize and too slow to instruct her words. “That is deranged,” she finally said.
He laughed.
“You would rather give me five thousand pounds than inherit an estate and title.” She had to say it aloud before she could believe that’s what he truly meant. He was nothing like she had anticipated.
“Far rather.”
Emilia pressed one hand to her forehead, dazed. “You’re a very odd man, Mr. Dashwood.”
He grinned and shuffled the deck, the cards a blur in his fingers.
“If I win,” she said slowly, thinking hard, “you’ll agree to pursue your claim to the title.”
